100 beautiful words project

January 1, 2011

It’s been 100 days, and we’ve said our 100 words.

Thank you to the lovers and the sweet followers and the kind words. I hope this new year brings you your hearts’ desire, as I begin the new calendar with high hopes and thoughts of You.

——

10:35 pm | January 2011

Some people say that the best stories have no words. They weren’t brought up to Lighthousekeeping. It is true that words drop away, and that the important things are often left unsaid. The important things are learned in faces, in gestures, not in our locked tongues. The true things are too big or too small, or in any case always the wrong size to fit in the template called language.

— Jeanette Winterson, “Lighthousekeeping”

100. Eloquence

8:31 pm | December 2010

99. Redolent

_{These woods are haunted by sound
of girl-feet on dead leaves.
These woods are redolent with
dreams.}

(Source: misswallflower)

11:28 pm | December 2010 | 189 notes

98. Cumulus

Love like your feet has never touched ground.

(Source: sheandherdarkness, via y-ttrium)

11:20 pm | December 2010 | 446 notes

95. Zaiakukan | Japanese - the impression of sin

(Source: tamburina)

I came upon twin fawns in the display case of a mom and pop toy and science store in Kansas City, Missouri. It took me two years to win the trust of the shop owner and save the money to buy them. A taxidermist spotted a dead deer by the side of the road. He stopped to properly dispose of the body and realized she was pregnant. He opened her and found near full-term twin fawns, he removed and preserved them.

Deer rarely have twins and the taxidermist retained the uterine gesture of their bodies. I built them a vitrine with a light blue base. Their prematurity exaggerates the delicacy of an incredibly sweet thing. The points of their hooves, the length of their lashes, the spots of their hides, nose to small nose in an ur-cartoonish realism … Viewers’ eyes trick them into believing the fawns are breathing. The tragedy of beauty is its transience.

The twins live forever in their own demise. They are sleeping beauties.They have been muses since I first saw them … We dress death in lilies and bronze the names of our dead sons on walls. We erect altars of toys and hold candlelight vigils to express hope. My twin fawns sleep endlessly on their baby blue block in my studio. The twins never opened their eyes yet their wondrous fatality evokes an acceptable alternative to death.
— Peregrine Honig

via

(via sore-thumbelina)

10:23 pm | December 2010